What Happened In September
by Bandtrees
Summary: Robert laughs when Mary tells him about it, like the joke she's pretending it is. It would be so much easier if that was all it was. (Reupload from Ao3, originally posted on 9/30/19)


"So, you ever kill a man?"

She knows, logically, it's a joke, and she should respond like it is. After all, even jokes about the Christiansen family's _little secret_ would be enough to alert the authorities — or at the very least anger Joseph, which is far, far worse.

Maybe it's the alcohol, or simply the need to tell someone after hiding her sins for so long. Maybe she trusts Robert, which she hasn't done for anybody in a long time. Regardless of whatever excuse she comes up with, she answers his question with a "yeah".

Robert's eyebrow raises, and he turns his head to her with a curious smirk. "Uh-huh?" He thinks she's joking, like how he does with the exaggerated war stories and talk of taking down unholy creatures in the night.

Mary shudders, knowing she can just play along and not have to confront this. It'd be the smart thing to do. She could pull something out of her ass, and at worst it'd just be an awkward but otherwise harmless joke. She knows she should.

Even when he's not there, she can always feel Joseph's knowing smile on her. She knows better than anyone how well he can read people — she'd come home and he'd see the guilt on her face and pinpoint it _immediately_ and he would _know_ and she can't even imagine what he'd do to her.

So there's no reason for her to say anything about it. Not as a joke, and God forbid an honest confession, but Robert's watching her and waiting for her to say something and nothing is coming out. She can feel her glass sweating on her hand and the table.

If saying yes to that question was a bad decision, expanding on it was worse. She wills herself to move, forcing her clammy hand to bring her drink to her lips and down the entire thing. The burn as it goes down her throat is familiar by now, usually a comfort, even, but there isn't any comfort in it now. No warm buzz or slow happy feeling, just pain.

"This... poor fucking woman, man."

Mary mentally sorts out her will then and there.

"She's not from around here. Neither is her husband. But they go to our church. Real—" She cuts herself off with a gag, or a sob, or something she really can't tell. "—real nice people. Come to that spot in the woods every weekend to go hunting."

"So what'd they do to piss off Bloody Mary?" Robert orders them both another round, to Mary's mild relief. She can't get through this sober, but even drinking won't make it easier. This isn't just complaining about a fight with Joseph, or even getting into his various affairs. This was so, so much more serious.

She would die if this got back to him. Robert might, too.

Mary shakes her head. "Nothing. That's the thing. Just wanted to see that sorrow and grief in her husband, 'cause then he'd go to Joseph, and..." She chews her lip, staring into the table. "...we'd kill him, too. It's all about grief. Causing as much suffering as we can. We thrive on it."

_We._ Despite the guilt in her heart, she knows she's just as complicit in all of this as her husband is. She's not a blind follower — she's his faithful partner. She brings down as many hatchets on bone and provokes as many fights between couples as he does.

It's just to save face, to build a kindly public persona so that the suffering and shame they harvest is all the worse, but while she'd never admit it, Mary does like the church. She knows she'll burn in Hell when she dies, just like him. She doesn't believe they'll be saved like Joseph. In all honesty, she doesn't fully believe in the creature in the ocean, but it may be a born Christiansen thing. She knows Joseph's father does.

At least Joseph has the defense of doing it for faith. Mary might be worse.

She's brought out of her thoughts by Robert. "How'd our modern Bonnie and Clyde get this hunter woman, then?" He's humoring her, likely trying to find the depths of this twisted story. That's all it is to him. She wishes it was that simple, she really _really_ does.

"Caught her out hunting one night. Started to take chase. She was a tough woman, fought really hard, but I managed to break her wrist with a rock so she couldn't grab the gun again. Then Joseph hacked her up so bad you would've thought the coyotes got her."

Robert laughs. He laughs, and Mary's heart hurts more and more because he doesn't know the truth. "Gonna stop you there. Joe'd never get all messy like that. He's more the poison type, I bet."

She shakes her head. The whiskey is settling _really_ badly, and she feels as if she might throw up at any moment, though it's probably more the conversation's fault than the drink's. "You know him, man. He used to be a sailor. Never afraid to get dirty when he has to. Stronger than he looks, too."

"Fair." Robert shrugs. "He probably would poison some cookies or something, though. He makes way too much of 'em."

Mary forces a laugh. She's always scared to take food from him, just in case he doesn't find her useful anymore, or thinks she's said too much and decides to end her there. It'd be preferable to dying in the tunnels, at least.

"The woman, they only identified her by her jacket by the time we were done with her. Her husband comes to church in black, and... Joseph talks to him. Comforts him." Feeling uncomfortably hot, she runs a hand through her hair. She wonders if Robert can tell she's serious — she clearly _looks_ stressed out, but with their senses of humor, combined with her story being... overall ridiculous, she's not quite sure. "He doesn't even know."

Bringing his drink to his lips, Robert chuckles lowly. "I'll keep an eye on him for you."

And that seems to be the end of that.

She's hyper aware of the bar's activity — if anyone was close enough to listen, if they suspected anything, but... oh, who was she kidding? He thought she was joking, sure, but she'd just confessed a murder to Robert. Whether it was one person or the whole building, she was royally fucked.

God, what would Joseph do to _him_? The thought makes her sick — maybe he'd force her to kill him, to get as much grief out of her as he can. She'd been fortunate enough to never lose anyone close to her, after all. Making Robert die by her hand would be devastating.

Thinking on it, it was her fault for getting attached to someone her husband was already watching. His days would be numbered regardless.

The night continues in a haze as Mary stares wide-eyed over her glass, all too aware of her mortality at this rate. She's already been lacking, becoming more independent than Joseph likes, this would just be the final straw. Feeding her alcohol to keep her unaware, holding all the money he had and she didn't over her head, and teaching her that she was a human wreck who'd be dead in a ditch without him can only work for so long, but she says that like she'd ever be able to leave anyway.

She feels a hand on her shoulder at one point, thankful to find it's Robert's, and she's not sure how much time has passed by the time they get up and move, but she's happy to be anywhere but here.

The sidewalk keeps coming at her, she can barely keep a grip on Robert as he leads her down the street to another pub. She laughs drunkenly, though she doesn't feel anything resembling joy — only dread, and a vague wish for Robert to let go and allow her to split her head open on the concrete like she knows she deserves.

They go to another bar. Another two, three, four, and she gets the feeling there's something on Robert's mind too but she's nowhere near aware enough to bring it up. She's never been this selfish with him but she feels like she has a right to be for once.

She collapses outside the fourth, and Robert is there to catch her. Her body feels heavy, the streetlights and bar windows are too bright for her to handle. Her legs feel brittle and weak, and she can't stop herself from sliding down the wall into a pathetic ball as soon as Robert lets her go. She can barely comprehend her friend's slurred reassurances that he'll get her back to town, except that she begs _no, no, no_ when she hears Joseph's name.

She doesn't care what takes her — the booze, a passing car, a malicious drunk, the sidewalk, _whatever_ — so long as it gets to her before he does. At least then she'd still have a face and memory, even if an unflattering one, when she knows that he'd find some way to unperson her completely. Torture her to death and make it look like a freak accident, just like they did to Marilyn Small. Nobody would be any the wiser.

This is what she deserves, she tells herself. Maybe in some other life she'd have the nerve or the good in her heart to stop Joseph, but not here. She's just as awful as he is, and too cowardly to even go home and face her fate.

Robert holds her hand as he talks to her, though she takes in none of it, and she sees through the lights and pounding in her head that it's the hand with the same tattoo as her throat. She knows he wouldn't be treating her with that kindness if he knew what she did — he'd probably kill her then and there, actually.

She hates that she can accept his comfort, leaning her head against him as he slowly brings her to her feet. Everything sounds murky, but she can make out him repeating that they'll try and go to his place, not Joseph's — he probably thinks she just wants to avoid a fight, which is quite an understatement — and all she can do is shut her eyes and hope to die in his arms instead of her husband's.


End file.
